


Pumpkin, Let's Make a Patch

by Caitybug



Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell, Simon Snow & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe - Normal Life, Carry On Countdown 2020, Fluff, Getting Together, Halloween times, Kissing, M/M, Pining, Why not write a halloween fic in december, amiright?, pumpkin patch, this is based on a tiktok I saw once haha
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-07
Updated: 2020-12-07
Packaged: 2021-03-10 04:34:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,516
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27928345
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Caitybug/pseuds/Caitybug
Summary: Simon Snow is trying to create a neighborhood pumpkin patch.Baz, unknowingly, rips the pumpkins out of his front lawn.(How will he make it up to him?)
Relationships: Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch/Simon Snow
Comments: 11
Kudos: 70
Collections: Carry On Countdown 2020





	Pumpkin, Let's Make a Patch

**Author's Note:**

> This story is based off [this tiktok](https://www.tiktok.com/@andipdx/video/6840276167656819973?source=h5_m)
> 
> Thank you so much to [May](tumblr.com/twokisses), [Seb](tumblr.com/pipsqueakparker), and [Liz](tumblr.com/foolofabookwyrm) for reading this for me! I appreciate you all so much.

Baz

“I took care of the weeds growing on the front lawn!” I shout to Daphne when I walk through the threshold. 

We’re not sure what they are, or where they came from, but we assume they’re weeds. 

(At the very least, they weren’t planted by _us_.)

(It’s not as if there’s someone running through the streets planting mysterious vines in people’s yards, right?)

I laugh to myself as I envision what that would look like. _In the middle of the night, the plant bandit rolls through the neighborhood, planting rose bushes, trees, maybe even a hydrangea._

It would be like a green-thumb version of Banksy. 

I close the door behind me, sifting through the mail. 

(None for me, of course, but there’s a few that can be tossed.)

I trip over a small skeleton left in the foyer, cursing to myself. 

“Don’t forget to take off your shoes!” Daphne shouts from upstairs. 

I stop, moving closer to the front window, surrounded by boxes pulled from the attic. (They’re all filled with decorations.)

We’re one month from Halloween, and we’re starting to get the lawn prepared for decorations. (We’re running a bit late this year.)

We don’t take Halloween lightly in the Grimm-Pitch household. Every year our house is the place to go for trick-or-treating. Both because of our dedication to giving full-sized chocolate bars, and the complete haunted house experience in the front lawn. 

(We also make sure to leave space for those who would rather avoid any spooks.)

So we need to make sure that any disruptions (plant or otherwise) are taken care of before the process begins. 

I’m taking off my shoes when I see Simon Snow skateboarding down our road. He’s wearing a deep red helmet and is holding a watering can in his hand.

I can’t help the eyebrow that raises on my forehead. 

Simon is often up to something strange. I once found him in the middle of the road with Shepard, five two-liters of diet cola, and ten packages of mentos.

Still not sure what they were trying to prove with that one. 

(All I know is the road ended up sticky until it rained.)

I watch him pause outside my house, and my heart leaps. 

(I can see a bronze curl peeking out from underneath his helmet.)

“Stop staring at the neighbour boy and help me!” Mordelia shouts from the other room. 

I stammer, taking my shoes off the rest of the way, before heading towards the dining room.

I catch one final glimpse of him before I walk away.

He’s gorgeous. (Always is.)

And I think, for a moment, he looks disappointed. 

It makes my heart sink more than I’d like.

_How have I disappointed you now, Simon Snow?_

Simon

I’m standing with my watering can, staring at the patch of grass that was once part of my neighborhood pumpkin patch. 

I guess I should have expected this to happen. That someone would see my stray pumpkins and rip them up. 

I just didn’t expect that it’d be _them_. 

I look up at the Grimm-Pitch house. (Mansion, more like. It’s the largest in our neighborhood. The most ornate and well-kept.) 

They _love_ Halloween. It’s practically their namesake at this point. 

So I assumed when they saw the vines start to grow, and the tiny sign I made (it’s toppled over now. Dirt covers part of the _Neighborhood Pumpkin Patch_ so it now reads _hood kin atch_ ) that they’d be enthused. Use it as part of the decorations.

But… 

The vines are torn up. I see them hanging lifelessly outside the garbage can at the end of their drive. 

I take a deep breath and put my skateboard back down, ready to check on more pumpkins. 

“Hi Simon!” I hear from the doorway. 

It’s Mrs. Grimm, setting out glass bottles of milk. I wave halfheartedly back. 

(She must not realise it was me.)

I see her son, Baz, from inside the window. He’s with his younger sister, Mordelia, and they’re starting to unravel the fake cobwebs from a bin. 

I can’t help but wonder if it was him that ripped them up. 

We didn’t get along for the longest time. He and I’d fight at school, avoid each other on the bus, even egged each other’s houses a couple of times. 

But things have been getting better for a while.

I even wondered if… maybe…

I shake my head.

(Definitely _not_ , Simon.)

I kick off, heading to the Bunce household next. (Penelope has been hiding my project from her mother. Neither of us think that Mrs Bunce would approve of this)

***

_Two weeks later_

Baz

Mordelia and I are setting up some more decorations in the front lawn. (Stringing up lights, figuring out where the fog machine will go… our typical Halloween getup.) 

“Basil, I think we should set the zombies up here,” she says, pointing to the trees on either side of the drive. 

For a child, she has a lot of opinions. 

I’m about to answer when I hear two neighbours talking as they pass our house.

“Can you believe what that Snow boy did?” says one. 

My ears perk at his name.

_What did he do?_

“I know! Absolutely darling of him. My granddaughter came to visit and we walked the whole neighborhood to see them all,” the other replies. 

I frown. 

“A Neighborhood Pumpkin Patch! It’s wonderful. And he’s been watering them all this time.” 

_A Neighborhood Pumpkin Patch?_

“No wonder he’s always skating through the neighborhood.”

I turn, watching as they leave earshot. 

“Basil?” Mordelia shouts, trying to get my attention.

I wave her off and walk across the road to the bit of orange in the lawn across from ours.

_Pumpkins._

I look down the road and, sure enough, I see more. 

Every house on our road has pumpkins growing on its lawn. 

I notice a small sign in front of the pumpkins and look closer at it.

_Neighborhood Pumpkin Patch._

I look back at my house, the only place without pumpkins growing at the edge of the lawn, and can't help the pang in my chest. 

The hurt.

_Why didn’t we get pumpkins too?_

If anything, you’d think we would be the best house for it. 

I see Simon skating down the road and I clench my fists, ready for a fight. 

I’m angry.

Hurt.

_Confused._

(I thought things had gotten better.)

(Though, I guess he’s been a bit more distant these past two weeks.)

(He must have known I’d figure it out eventually.)

When he gets closer, I stand in front of him, forcing him to stop.

Simon

I’m absolutely giddy.

Everyone _loves_ the pumpkins. They say it’s been the highlight of the season. 

Some have carved into a couple for decoration, but others have chosen to keep them as they are. Let them stand alone. 

(A few have been eaten by squirrels, but there was always a hazard with this project.)

My good mood disappears, however, when I see Baz Pitch standing in the middle of the pavement, steam practically coming out of his ears.

I stop seconds before running him over, eyes wide and frightened.

(I’m not sure why he is pissed at me. He’s the one who ruined my pumpkins. If one of us should be pissed, it should be me)

“Simon,” he snarls. “I see you’ve turned our neighborhood into a pumpkin patch.”

I nod once. 

It’s a statement, a fact, yet it feels laced with anger and hatred.

“Why-” his voice catches. I swear it sounds… hurt? Almost? But I’m not sure why. Would _he_ have rather made a neighborhood pumpkin patch? “Why is it that you’ve done every house but ours?” 

I frown, confused. 

“But-”

“I know we’ve never _quite_ gotten along, Snow. But this feels low.” 

“Baz-”

“I just-” He groans. “Our home is devoted to Halloween to the point of ridiculousness. So why-”

“Baz!” I shout over him.

He stops mid-word, hands frozen in the air. 

(He waves them around when he’s frustrated. I noticed it at school once. It’s _cute_.)

(But _he’s_ cute.)

“I _did_ plant pumpkins in your yard,” I say. 

His eyebrows shoot up. “Then why-”

“But!” I say louder again, trying to emphasise it’s _my_ turn to speak. “You ripped them up. I’m not sure why but-”

“Wait,” he interrupts softly.

(I can’t ever get him to shut up, it seems.)

I let him, though. This interruption is different. Less about interrupting, and more about understanding. 

“Those were- that was…” He’s processing. I’m not used to this. He’s usually five steps ahead of me. 

I’m not used to _him_ being the one who has no clue what’s going on. 

Baz

He… I…

_I fucked this up._

“I didn’t know,” I say softly. 

He shrugs. (He’s always shrugging.)

“I’m sorry. That was-” I drop my hands finally. “That was rude of me.”

“‘S’alright.” 

He’s staring at the ground, and I’m not sure where I should go from here. 

I’ve not seen his helmet this close before.

It’s red, with dragon wings on each side. It’s almost like it was made for a fucking twelve-year-old. 

(It’s lovely, though. On him.)

“Do you need any help?” I ask. It’s desperate, hopeful. 

“Work’s already been done, hasn’t it?” he replies. 

I feel myself deflate. 

“I should-uh,” he mumbles, “get going.” 

He situates himself back on his skateboard, waiting for me to move.

I stay for a moment, trying to think how I can fix it. But he clears his throat, and I decide that it’s for the best to let him be.

I move onto the grass and watch him leave.

When I turn around, I see it finally.

It’s small and wooden, and when I wipe away the dirt and grime that’s built on it, I see the words _Neighborhood Pumpkin Patch_ etched into it. 

I look back to see him stop at the Wellbelove’s, getting hugs from her parents before he continues down the road. 

I sigh and head back to my door, ignoring Mordelia’s protests for help.

_I need to fix this._

***

_Halloween._

Simon

I love Halloween. The costumes, the laughter, the change in seasons.

It’s _wonderful._

I pass Baz’s house on the way to Penelope’s, and it’s a sight.

Sometimes when houses decorate for Halloween it seems chaotic. Just a string of cobwebs and twelve-foot-tall skeletons.

But the Grimm-Pitches never disappoint. 

There are cobwebs, zombies, lights, _and_ fog rolling into the street. 

I see a group of tweens walk out onto the pavement, laughing and smiling at the candy they just got.

(The Grimm-Pitches _do_ give the best candy.)

I continue walking, deciding it’s best not to stop at their house today.

But, because life always pushes me in certain directions, I hear a voice call my name. 

Frowning, I turn to the fog.

“Simon!” it shouts again. 

It’s deep.

Male.

_Baz._

I debate leaving for a moment, not wanting to deal with the repercussions of whatever argument he’s about to have with me. But I stop.

I can’t help myself. 

I _hate_ how much I like him. How seeing him walk up to me like this, hearing him calling my name (my _first_ name even) has this effect on me. 

He walks out in a cape, with fangs that look a little _too_ realistic, and fake blood on his lips.

I gulp.

(Fuck.)

Baz

“Simon,” I say softer. (It comes out as a lisp. Damn fangs.) “I wanted to talk to you.”

“I feel like we talked enough last we saw each other,” he grumbles.

He crosses his arms, making the fake red wings on his back move slightly. The end of a tail sits next to his foot.

“I-” I pause, still taking the sight of him in. “What _are_ you?”

He blinks. “A dragon.”

I frown.

_What kind of dragon-_

“Did you have something you needed to say?” he asks.

“Yes, I-” I clear my throat, stepping towards the lawn. “I wanted to apologize. For ripping up your pumpkins.”

He nods. “Anything else?”

I knew an apology alone wouldn’t fix this. So I decided to take it upon myself to fix the situation. 

I pull a little wooden sign from my pocket. 

“I planted more.” I hand him the sign. “So that you knew the _entire_ neighbourhood supported this…. _project_.” 

He looks at the sign and back at the grass. I just planted the seeds this morning. 

“They won’t grow,” he mutters, hand reaching to scratch the back of his neck. (He does that, sometimes, when he’s nervous.) “They need to be planted when the ground is warm.” He sighs. “It’s too late now.”

I deflate, taking the sign back when he offers it. 

He huffs out some air. “It’s okay, though. It’s fine.”

We stand there for a moment, awkwardly not looking at each other.

He drops his hand from his neck and I grab it.

I don’t know why I do it, but I’m glad I do. 

(At least to know what it feels like.)

“Baz-”

“Simon,” I breathe. “I’m sorry. It wasn’t done with bad intentions. I didn’t see the sign and we thought they were weeds.”

I look up, and his blue eyes are wide and bright. 

He squeezes my hand once. 

(I can’t believe he’s not let it go.)

“Can I, maybe, help you next year?” I ask.

He smiles.

“I’d like that.” 

I let out a deep exhale, closing my eyes.

He leaves to see the Bunce’s shortly after, but I feel better.

_It’s better._

***

_The Following May._

Simon

“Hello Mrs, Grimm,” I greet as she opens the door. She smiles knowingly before turning around to shout for Baz.

He, however, has beat her to the punch, already there with shoes and a helmet on.

“Ready, Pumpkin?” he says, a smirk on his face.

I roll my eyes, pulling the packet of seeds from my pocket.

“Always.” I shake the bag for emphasis. 

He grabs my hand and pulls me through the doorway, muttering something about cookies I need to try (his sister’s trying to learn how to bake), and avoiding his stepmother’s knowing glances.

This is normal, now.

The holding hands.

The coming over.

The kissing around cookie crumbs in the kitchen.

Stolen moments whenever we can find time without stray eyes looking at us.

(We’re doing that, now. Kissing. It’s got to be one of the top five things Baz and I do.)

He does this thing with his tongue and I feel the action of kissing Baz move up higher on my list. 

I don’t want to stop. (I never do.)

But my stomach grumbles, forcing me to pull back and take another bite of cookie. 

“They’re good,” I say through a mouthful.

He laughs. “You’re disgusting.”

I wink, stuffing the rest of it in my mouth. 

“Well, time to get planting,” I declare, snapping my helmet back on.

When I take a step away, he pulls me into one final kiss.

It’s good.

(They all are.)

It tastes like chocolate chips, sugar, and Baz.

“Well, Pumpkin,” he whispers against my lips, “let’s make a patch.”

**Author's Note:**

> Feel free to check me out on [Tumblr!](tumblr.com/blog/caitybuglove23)
> 
> Thanks for reading!


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